


Quantum and Physics

by Aniphine



Series: Sara/Charon Fics (F!LW/Charon) [3]
Category: Fallout 3
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2015-11-01
Packaged: 2018-04-29 12:42:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5128064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aniphine/pseuds/Aniphine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sara, the Lone Wanderer, decides that it's about time she and Charon took a break. And what better way to do that then drinking a massive collection of whiskey and mixing it with Nuka Cola Quantums? (WITH A NEW AND IMPROVED CHAPTER! AND AWKWARD SITUATIONS!) F!LWxCharon bromance plus romance teasings. Drunken shenanigans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [saraisahugenerd](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=saraisahugenerd).



> Warning: this first chapter was a really early work, and kind of sort of sucked. YET the new one is written as a sort of companion oneshot with new skills, so if the first one is painful, please skip to the second one.

"What are you talking about, Charon? Everyday is a good day to drink!" Sara averred, waving her hand dismissively as she walked further into the elderly structure. "Besides, we've been working hard gathering parts and knick-knacks, and clearing out places, and finding people for  _weeks_. I declare  _this_  our night off!"

"Couldn't we wait until we get back to Megaton?" Charon tried to persuade.

The day - or week in general - had been long and tedious. His body was sore; his every muscle feeling over-worked and aching as his entirety complained from the lack of a good night's sleep. Restful slumber was something he knew he wouldn't find in the small, crude building they had stopped in to make camp; the structure which, although not the best quality, would hold at least for the night.

"But I want to have a drink  _tonight_ ," Sara defended, leaning down and reaching her hand into the bag she had discarded on the floor. "And we couldn't get back home before dark."

Her fingers felt around in the bag, causing the sound of glass clattering and clinging from inside to ring out from the movement, hinting to the large amount of bottles contained within.

Her hand finally emerged with a single whiskey bottle clasped in her palm; the glass tinted a friendly orange and filled to the brim with equally colorful liquid. Weeks of collecting random bottles of alcohol whenever they found them provided an impressive stockpile of booze.

With the object of her affection in her hold, she placed her free hand against the wall and settling down onto the floor; crossing her legs in front of her as she eased her strained back against the crude wall. The muscles surrounding her spine stung and ached as she allowed them to unwind, but the pain ebbed away after a moment of stillness.

Sara's eyes suddenly darted up to Charon standing feet away from her. "Whoa, I just had a great idea."

Resting his own pack on the floor beside him, Charon glanced to her over his shoulder.

"What if I-" She began, her face suddenly meditative, "-took this." Raising her whiskey bottle to eye height, she used her free hand to reach back into her bag her, fumbling around in it for a moment, causing a clatter of glass to sound again. "And mixed it with this." She lifted out the glowing blue bottle of Nuka-Cola Quantum from the large collection hidden within.

"Aren't those reserved?" Charon argued.

"Oh, don't worry, the crazy lady will get her supply of soft drinks. She only needs thirty and I don't plan on drinking them all. It's only one, what would that hurt? There are plenty of them around; we'll just have to get another. No biggie." Sara reasoned, "Just think though, it'll taste amazing! And  _definitely_  take the edge off."

Charon grimaced, "I wouldn't drink that."

"But… but it  _glows_ , Charon." Sara explained, a look of enthusiasm flashing in her eyes. "That means it has to be at least  _twice_  as good."

"Toxic waste glows too." Charon countered, resting his weary form down onto an old crate across from Sara.

"Yeah…. Well… well, so did you when you swam through it!" She shot back weakly.

"You mean when you made me?"

Sara tipped her head, her eyes narrowing, "But we had to get that MedKit. And you're immune to the stuff, it was only fair! If I did it, there would not be enough Rad-X in the world to undo it. I like my intestines where they are - not leaking out my eyes."

"Yeah… I haven't forgotten your reasoning…" Charon muttered, disgruntled. "But what did that have to do with you pulling me into a dark closet?"

"I- Well…. Oh, come on, I wanted to see how bright you were! I hadn't seen a glow-stick since 101, don't begrudge me my fun."

Charon simply rolled his eyes.

"Oh, don't get angst-y on me, man…" She teased.

Charon shook his head tiredly. "My point stands. You shouldn't drink it."

"Well… why would that loony chick ask us to collect them if they were dangerous?"

"' _Loony'_ "

"I… damn it, stop punching holes in my theories, Charon." She bit resentfully, "Don't be a buzz kill. You need to get laid and drunk sometime, man, you're so uptight."

"I don't see many opportunities to do such things."

"Of course you do! Look around! You have the whiskey, vodka, the beer! You have-" Sara's words suddenly catching in her throat as her mind caught up with her mouth. Charon's eyes caught just a dim color growing on her face. "You- you have the whiskey! And who needs anything else when you have whiskey? Everything else is overrated."

He raised an eyebrow at her, grateful for his ruined skin to hide his own dim blush.

"Well, because, you know… Well, you know, not that I- Not to say that shoul- Or that I wouldn't- Or you- I-" She sputtered, finding herself, for once, at a loss for words. Her eyes darted to her side suddenly, lifting up a bottle of Quantum victoriously, "Hey, we have Quantum!"

Charon forced down his smirk in an unseen gesture and adjusted the crate he was sitting on.

"But seriously, Charon! Just look at it! It looks so friggin' cool! And the effects can't be that different than… than something like Jet? No way it could be worse, it could only get cooler."

Charon had a sneaking suspicion that this wasn't a debate he was going to win. Telling by the tone of her voice and the humor of her words, she had already made up her mind and was now trying to joke him into agreeing. With the decision made, he knew he couldn't sway her opinion and convince her otherwise.

So he relented, shrugging. "Whatever. I suppose you're going to do what you want anyways. I've said all I'm going to."

Sara paused hesitantly, her eyebrows creasing as she looked at him oddly; an almost confused look partly hiding her displeasure as she glanced down at her drink thoughtfully. "But you have to try it with me." She said, the disappointment not escaping her voice as she looked back up to him.

"Sorry, I'm honor-bound to protect you, not get wasted off my ass with you."

"But that's where bro-ship compels you! Come on, you're not going to make me drink it alone! What kind of friend are you? I thought we were BFFs, Charon, I'm hurt. What kind of  _partner_  are you? The partner always has a victory drink with his buddy!"

"If we both die, there'll be no one to feed Dogmeat."

"Oh, come on, don't be a… dude, was that a joke?"

Charon didn't reply.

" _Dude_ , you made a joke, holy shit. That's funny." She confessed, her voice cracking vaguely as a chuckle bubbled up inside her. Raising the Quantum up in her hand, she continued, "Come on, that's something to drink to! Dude, you're going to be so much fun drunk."

"I'm not drinking it."

"But you  _have_  to." Sara pleaded. "Please?"

"No."

Sara pouted, dropping her head. Dogmeat lay on the ground not far from her, his head rested on his paws as he watched the scene with dull interest. Sara looking over to Dogmeat, her eyes showing her peeve. "Dogmeat, make him drink it."

Dogmeat whimpered confused.

Sara sighed, leaning back against the wall, "Fine, you guys are such pussies." Sara set the whiskey bottle in her hand down on the floor beside her, using her now free hand to grip at the cap of the Nuka Cola Quantum. Twisting it tightly for a moment, ignoring the sharp metal digging into her skin, she managed to pop it off and held the bottle out away from her face as it fizzed in bright, glowing blue bubbles. She looked at it cautiously. "It looks awesome already."

Reaching over and fumbling in her pack again, she lifted out a small glass; chipped slightly around the edges and stained an odd brown tint, but seeming capable of holding liquid. Holding the Quantum and the glass between her knees, she took the cap off of the whiskey and poured it into the shot-glass; following it by emptying the contents of the Quantum in as well.

The two drinks mixed and seemed to swirl together, making an odd sort of spiral of bright orange and glowing blue. She examined her glass warily, raising it eye level and watching as the glowing blue sank deeper into the glass; swirling but not seeming to combined, much like oil and water.

Her brow creased gently in consideration, but the unmistakable glimmer of excitement and what Charon would call recklessness showed clear in Sara's eyes; her hunter-green iris' illuminated a gentle blue by the glow of the glass. Taking a breath, as if to gather her courage, she brought the drink to her lips and took a swig, waiting only a moment before tipping back her head and letting it drain down her throat.

With the glass now empty and the strange mixture seeping into her blood stream, she stopped to take a breath. Slamming her glass down beside her triumphantly, she leveled her gaze straight ahead. Suddenly the world blurred; everything rushing from focused to unfocused and back as things became instantly close and then far away. The world zoomed out and then in again frighteningly fast and her weight seemed to go off balanced, making her rock back on the ground; her hand darting out to catch herself.

" _Whoa_." She muttered, her expression falling into a look of dumbstruck awe.

Charon's deformed and ruined eyebrows furrowed as his expression became suddenly serious, All humor aside, Charon leaned forward on the crate he was seated on, his eyes locking on Sara firmly as the intact iris' showed hard with concern.

"What?" He asked carefully, his voice measured.

Sara leaned forward in an attempt to regain her balance, but it only managed to knock her further off center and she swung dangerously to the side, nearly falling over. She landed on her forearm and caught herself from toppling over entirely; pausing a moment as she blinked hard in an attempt to clear her vision, before pushing herself back up to lean against the wall. She rested her head back against the cold concrete; her expression straight and her eyes seeming glossed.

" _Dude_." She drawled, her voice sounding lathered in satisfaction. "You gotta try this shit." A small smile quirked on her lips, "Like, no joke, this is the best stuff ever."

And so it began.

* * *

After another glass and twenty minutes, the world was suddenly hilarious to Sara.

She had dissolved into incoherent giggles before Charon could even understand what was so funny.

"And you…  _hehe_. You said 'but'.  _Ah-ha"_

Charon raised his eyebrow, "And that is funny, why...?"

"Because," She gasped, trying to hold down her laughter, "Because you said 'but'. You know, as in 'butts'." She giggled again. "That's funny, damn it!"

"Hmm, okay." He muttered to himself, shaking his head.

-0-0-0-

By glass three, the ponderings of the world and philosophy began.

"Think about it, Charon. We could be so wrong. Everything we know could be wrong. Maybe my name isn't even Sara? Maybe you're not really a bodyguard?" She contemplated, looking down into her drink as though the answers would spring forth from the strangely colored concoction. She was silent for a moment, staring into the swirl, but then her eyes rose to meet Charon. Her expression etched with deep consideration, "Am I a woman… or am I a dancer?"

It took every ounce of willpower Charon possessed to not choke on the laugh that leapt unbidden from his throat.

-0-0-0-

After a fourth glass and over an hour, Sara was convinced she was a superhero.

"I'm not even kidding, man, I  _hear_  my  _hair_  growing. Like, like, I can actually hear it. It's so loud. Can't you hear it? I… I can hear _your_  hair growing! How can  _your_  hair be growing? You... you don't even have hair! Dude… what if you  _do_  have hair. But, because of the radiation or zombie genes or what-have-ya, it… it, like, evaporates before it gets long enough for you to see. If you could just figure out how to make it stop evaporating… you'd have lots of hair! You'd look awesome! Well, maybe. Because, you know, you look pretty rad' now too." She nodded sluggishly, "Wait,  _hehe_ , 'rad''. Rads." She chuckled again, "'You totally rad, mo-fo.'" She laughed.

He was starting to wonder if they banned the Nuka-Cola Quantum for this reason.

"Oh dude!" She exclaimed suddenly, "I bet you I can run. Like, really fast. I wanna run. Seriously, right now." She swayed to the side, her hand darting out to catch her weight as she nearly tumbled over. Pushing herself back up, she placed her hand against the wall in a feeble attempt to stand.

Charon leaned forward on his crate and placed a solid hand on her shoulder and gently pushing her back down. "Sit." He ordered softly.

" _Aww_ , you're just mad because you're not as fast. I mean, I'm fast. Like,  _super_  fast. Like when I took on that Behemoth. That was the shit! I was a badass motherfucker." Her eyes suddenly flashed with amazement at a sudden realization, "Oh my God, that means I  _have_  to be special! I have super kickass powers and I never knew! It... it all makes sense. That 'special' book I had when I was little. It was called, 'You're S.P.E.C.I.A.L'. And it was right." She shook her head in wonderment, taking another drink from her glass. "Man, I should write a book. I could do it too. I will write a book about butts, and it will be called, 'Butts.'"

Even Dogmeat looked up to Charon with a quizzical expression. Charon returned his gaze and could only shake his head.

"Oh, and you know what else?" Sara continued, "I can taste clouds. Like… a summer breeze… they taste fresh, you know? You see on the back of that detergent stuff, where it says 'ocean fresh'? I finally get it. I finally understand. Ocean fresh. It tastes… fresh. You know, maybe this is what they were trying to tell us before? They were trying to share it, but we didn't get it. We didn't understand fresh. Maybe the world wasn't ready for it?  _Real_  fresh."

Apparently the philosophical portion hadn't worn off yet.

"Oh my God, Charon! Charon, I have an idea. This one… this one's really good this time, I promise. What if we…" She began, holding up her hands to better project her idea as her face became suddenly serious, "took that It-Rocker-Launch and- Launch-It-Rock… Launcher-Rock-"

"Rock-It-Launcher." Charon corrected.

"Yeah, yeah, that." She nodded quickly, "What if we took that… and made it, like, huge? Like, as big as the purifier big, you know? And what… what if we filled it with that detergent? And we could like… make the whole Capi- Capit- Capa-  _Wasteland…_ we could make the whole Wasteland ocean fresh. No, no, no, the  _whole goddamn_   _world_ … ocean fresh."

Charon sat up, reaching over and grabbing Sara's pack from the ground. Sitting back, he placed it next to his own bag without a word.

"What're you doing?" She asked; her face contorted in overly dramatic confusion.

Leaning back on the crate, he answered plainly, but with soft authority to his tone. "I think you've had enough."

" _Awww_! No I haven't!" She exclaimed, "I'm fine! I'm perf-fe-c- _ally_  in contr- _al_  of all my smarticals."

"No."

"Charon, you asshole, give it back!"

"No."

"I, your rightful leader, demand you give me my magic booze back!"

"No."

"Or else you shall be punished!"

"When you can say philanthropist, I'll take that threat seriously."

Sara paused, "F-ll-la-fo-piss. Fla-… filan-topaz... f-… fa-… fla- flu- flatho- fla-  _Oh, fuck you_."

Charon couldn't help but chuckle at that.

"You mother-fucker." She said the words slowly, glowering at him through narrowed eyes. "You're an asshole, you know? I should… I should thrash you. Like in the olden days."

"You'll be lucky if you can stand."

"Shut up, dickhead." She bit back, "Give it back!"

"I'm not going to."

" _Charon_!" She whined. "Charon!"

"No."

" _You_ , sir," She declared, pointing her index finger at him sharply, "are no gentleman! You are a brute and a  _meanie_."

"I'll just have to learn how to live with myself."

" _God_ , you're such an  _ass_. You need to get laid more, man, and learn to stop killing people's buzz."

"Sara, you're wasted. Stop it." He stated firmly, her name feeling odd on his lips as he spoke for one of the rare few times.

" _Don't, don't, don't,_ don't think that just because you use my name that that's going to  _butter_  me  _up_!" She pointed her index finger at him again, but it swayed in front of her, "This is America. And I want my booze!"

"No."

Huffing indignantly, Sara leaned back against the wall, lifting her glass up to eye level to stare at it grumpily. She rested her hand down beside her to keep her from rocking too far to the side, when a slight  _cling_  met her ears. Sluggishly, she looked down beside her.

Her face flashing with pride, she gripped the bottle under her hand lifted it up. "Ha-ha! Joke's on you, bitch! I have one more!"

Charon narrowed his eyes disapprovingly at her. Sorely tempted to wrestle that one away from her as well. But he'd probably hurt her - or she'd hurt herself - in the struggle, so it'd most likely be better to just let her have another drink.

Pouring the contents into the glass, Sara took a strong chug of it.

"So…" She began. "What was I saying? Oh, oh, oh, I remember. Freshness cannon. It'd be great! Oh, but wait… fuck, I don't think Moira has the plans.  _Awww_ , fuck. Stupid bitch." She relented, dropping her head, "But, hey! Maybe we could ask those assholes in Rivet City to help? Eh? Doctor tight-ass likes fresh stuff, right?"

-0-0-0-

It was around the fifth glass that the singing started.

" _I wanna know what love is!"_ Sara belted out passionately, raising her hand up into the air before clenching it into a fist and slamming it against her heart.  _"And I want you to show me!"_  She closed her eyes tightly, her face etched with zeal and her eyebrows bent with emotion, " _I wanna feel what love is! And I want you to show me!"_  Sara fell back against the wall, her expression that of enraptured. Her head falling to the side as she looked to Charon. "I wanna know what love is, Charon."

"You can ask Nova when we get back."

"No, Charon… you have to do what I say! And I say…  _love me_!"

"I'm a bodyguard, not a philanthropist."

"What is that? Philan…-tha-tha-blah. That's a hard word." She said dumbly, but then her expression suddenly morphed into shock, "Oh my God, that's that other word! That one you wanted me to say earlier, when you were being an asshole!" She exclaimed, "What is that? That word, what does it mean? Does that have something to with politics? Is that… is that a party? Like I heard back in 101? Oh, Charon, say that. Say '1-0-1'. It's fun! 1-0-1." She tested carefully on her tongue, smiling as she did so. "God, I lived in a cool vault." She paused, looking down as her eyes furrowed quizzically. "What was I talking about? Oh, yeah, politics! I remember an elephant and a donkey. But I don't know why they used those ones. I mean, the elephant is bigger, so that makes it cooler! And the other one is an ass. And that's bad. Why didn't the donkey people get mad? Is that why they did the big explode-y thing? With the nukes?"

Charon got to the point where he just let her ramble unopposed.

"That's stupid." She continued. "They could have just changed names. Those are some fucked up parties. Oh, Charon! We should have a party! A big party! With lights and drinks and stuff! I have tons of drinks, it'd be great!" She insisted. "And we could all wear hats! We could get one for you and one for me and one for Dogmeat -  _Oh, oh_ , we could get  _two_  for all of us! And it'd be great, because two hats are way better than one! And if we wear 'em right, then it'd look like ears! Like Deathclaw horns, you know? But we'd have to be careful! Because we wouldn't want to scare anyone. And we could all sing! Like in that game… that singing game… you know, when you get on a stage and you… you sing. You know?"

Charon just reclined against the wall, nodding halfheartedly when she looked to him enthusiastically.

"Oh, I could teach everyone to sing! I'm a great singer! The best fucking singer you've ever seen. And I know so many fucking songs too… like, you wouldn't believe. Like, more than Three Dog knows. And he knows a lot. Right, Charon? You know I'm a rockin' singer!"

"Hmm," Charon hummed, nodding as he began, "Problem is-"

" _Oh_! Bongo-bongo-bongo, I'm so happy in the taco, oh, no, no, no, no!" She cut in, singing loudly and terribly off key. "Jingle-Jangle-hangle, I'm so happy in the mango, I refused to go!" She rocked to the side, laughter suddenly bubbling up inside her. "Ha-ha, sing with me, Charon! Oh, bongo-bongo-bongo, I'm so happy in the taco, oh no… no… no… whoa…" Her voice started to fade in volume as her head swayed to the side. Her eyes drooped low. " _Hmm_."

Charon leaned forward slightly. "Are you alright?"

"Of course, I'm alright-y! I'm  _awe-th-ome_!" She yelled drunkenly. "Hey Charon?"

"Yeah?"

"Am I acting weir'?"

"What?"

"Am I… acting…  _weird_." She carefully pronounced each letter.

"Most definitely."

"Well, that aw-t g-um-thin- goo', huh?" Sara slurred, her voice varying in pitch with every word.

"What?" Charon queried, "What did you say? That didn't make any sense."

Sara paused thoughtfully, her brow creasing. "I know. D'at didn't make any sense, did it? And d-hen my voice changed and I was jus' talkin' and d'at was weir'."

"What?"

"Hey, I feel  _dizzy_!" She shouted happily as she veered precariously to the side. Suddenly her hand slipped on the old and deteriorated flooring and her balance gave out, forcing her to fall clumsily to the ground. Landing on her shoulder, her empty glass slipped from her hand and it hit the ground hard; only the thickness prevented it from shattering.

Scoffing internally at her inelegance, Charon asked simply, "You okay?" Unworried and expecting her to languidly try to right herself, he called again when she didn't reply. "Hey."

But she offered no response. And no movement.

"Damn it." He cursed quietly, standing up from his crate.

Crossing the small room of the elderly building and coming to her side, he stood over her for a moment; his eyes fixed on her still form and half expecting her to shift to the side and spout off something slurred and idiotic. But she didn't. So he kneeled down beside her, placing his coarse hand firmly on her shoulder and pushing her to roll to her back. She complied easily, her body suddenly languid and unresisting. Her head lolled to the side, showing her normally lively and bright emerald eyes to be shut peacefully.

Her shoulder still in his grasp, he shook her carefully. "Hey." His voice firm, but calm as he attempted to rouse her.

But she didn't respond. Her eyes still tranquilly shut and her face settled in a serene expression that he would call sleep.

He raised his coarse but attentive hand to her face as his keen eyes examining her closely. His fingertips pressed against the soft flesh of her cheek, finding her skin aflame with heat and tinted with a stark blush from the alcohol.

"Sara?" He asked determinedly.

She didn't react.

"Hey, wake up." He shook her more harshly, gently slapping his hand against her face. "Wake up. Now."

Nothing.

"Sara, you have to get up. Get  _up_."

Silence.

" _Sara_."

Nothing was working.

In the hush of the enclosed building, with the life of the Wastes around them dying down as night drew closer, he could easily hear her gentle breaths and see her chest rise and fall with each. Letting his hand trail down her cheek and rest on her neck, he could feel her heartbeat still strong and could see her breathing still consistent. But she wouldn't wake up. So that brought him to the obvious conclusion.

She passed out.

She got drunk off her ass and passed out.

In the middle of no where.

Charon sighed, dropping his head in frustration. Looking over his shoulder and out over the Wastes to see the sun threatening to touch down on the horizon, he cursed again quietly. He didn't want to stay out here with her in this condition. If she was conscious, then that was one thing, but her like this?

 _Great fucking job, Charon._ He scolded himself,  _You're supposed to protect her and you let her drink herself into oblivion._

He had to get them back to town.

If he stayed he would be forced to not only keep watch over Sara to assure that she kept breathing and didn't harm herself, should she wake up, but also keep guard against any night predators that decided to check out their camp.

Starting a fire would only scare off the little dangers and would increase the chances of a small group of Raiders passing by to investigate them. With both Sara and himself in perfect condition, it was a normal risk, but with Sara unconscious, he knew he wouldn't be able to fortify them against a Raider attack.

Sara helpless and him outnumbered.

Wouldn't work.

And then there was the medical standpoint. If she woke up with a killer hangover, as he guessed she would, she certainly wouldn't want to walk clear to Megaton, where any medical stockpiles, as well as a doctor, could be found. Or what if, God forbid, the Quantums affected Sara badly and it wasn't just drunkenness that caused her to fall unconscious? If something went wrong during the night, he didn't want to have to risk carrying her then, when she needed help and attention immediately.

But there was no way he could get them back before nightfall. No matter how fast he moved or even if she was able to walk herself, the day would end before they were even halfway.

But if he moved fast, he might be able to get them into Megaton shortly  _after_  dark.

Granted, most of the general wildlife would come out just after dark, such as Rad-scorpions, but the extremely dangerous creatures waited until later in the night to emerge for hunting.

Dogmeat could alert him of danger before it got too close and his shotgun should fend off anything short of a full group of raiders or a Deathclaw.

He could do it. He'd risk it.

He'd have to.

He let his hand grasp around her arm, pulling her unconscious form up from its strewn place on the ground and forward as he ducked under her arm and pressed his shoulder to her abdomen. Using his other hand to hook around her waist, he shifted her place on him slightly before standing, letting her lay slung over his shoulder.

Her petite weigh settling onto him, he shifted somewhat to stop the small metal pieces of her armor from digging into his skin through his own leather clothing. With her secure, he carefully kneeled down to hook his hand around the straps of his bag, slinging it onto his arm and then grabbing hers as well. Struggling only a moment, he managed to hook both onto his unencumbered shoulder, before cautiously leaning down again; picking his shotgun up from atop the crate.

Finally standing to his full height without dropping any of his cargo, he whistled sharply and Dogmeat obediently jumped to his feet. Charon let his eyes travel over the crude room to assure he hadn't forgotten anything and, sure that he hadn't, he turned and made his way out into the Wastes.

* * *

Charon slipped through small opening between the gates of Megaton, not turning to offer his thanks to the small Securitron who manned the gates like Sara often did. Instead he readjusted the packs on his arm and flexed his fingers around the shotgun in his hand as his muscle began to complain with more volume at the strain and weariness.

Charon was no stranger to long hours and heavy loads, but the sheer amount of weight being carried on his single shoulder was more than he was accustom to holding even on both shoulders. Both his pack, plus a few heavy weapons that Sara had designated him to carry, plus her heavily encumbered bags, then having the delicate cargo of his boss and 'partner' slung over his other shoulder like dead weight only added to his strain.

But Charon supposed he should be grateful; at least she was quiet again. Sara would have momentary bouts of consciousness, but they didn't last long. Most included singing passionately off-key, songs that he wasn't sure were in English and occasionally yelling out 'the moon is yellow' at the top of her lungs, which would make Dogmeat whimper and stumble in surprise.

Charon would just shake his head and try to keep focused on the fact that she could have put herself in a legitimately dangerous situation, and try to force down the smirk that wanted to climb onto his lips and the laugh that fought its way up his throat.

She was entertaining. That was for damn sure.

Charon's fingers were beginning to tremble slightly at the stress, but he clutched them painfully tight around the stock of his shotgun to keep them still.

_Almost there._

The pure darkness of the town at nighttime was only broken by the few scarce lights outside the ragged and worn houses. The dim lanterns illuminating their forms in the warm color and enveloping them in a relaxing sense of home. Dark, quiet and peaceful. Charon could almost feel his body ache in the anticipation of being this close to rest.

He moved at a slow pace as he traveled down the incline into the center of Megaton, making sure to judge for his own weight as well as the extra he was carrying, so to not tumble down the hill. Dogmeat followed him obediently, cheerily trotting behind him.

Walking up the slope just as Charon was walking down, came the form of the Sheriff. His signature, ratty cowboy hat secured atop his head and rusted badge all but invisible on his shirt in the faint light. Judging by the time of night and the slowness of his speed, Charon guessed he was retiring home for the evening, which was placed near the gates.

The Sheriff glanced up the incline as he climbed it, his eyes darting to Charon quickly as though he had not previously noticed him. A friendly, but business-like expression fell over his face, almost unnoticeable in the blackness, and his hat tipped curtly as he nodded to Charon.

"Hey, Charon. How's it going?"

"Same as usual." Charon replied casually.

"That bad, uh?" The Sheriff quipped, smiling kindly as he did so. Suddenly his eyebrows furrowed and his head tipped slightly to the side as his eyes settled on the bundle slung over Charon's shoulder. He nodded to Sara, "She finally tested out that stash of hers?"

"Unfortunately. How'd you guess?" Charon joked, as if the woman slung over his shoulder wasn't obvious enough.

"I'm just psychic." The Sheriff shrugged, "I guess those Children of Atom freaks are getting to me. Becoming a prophet."

"Well, do you see her waking up without permanent brain damage in the future?"

"Ah, well, I've been pulling long hours, so everything is a bit fuzzy." He raised his hand to rub the back of his neck, wincing slightly, "I'll get back to you on that in the morning."

Charon nodded, "It'd be appreciated."

"Night, Charon. Good luck." He waved his goodbye as he stepped past Charon, continuing up to the gates.

Charon nodded in response. He stepped further down the slope, turning once he reached the bottom and walking up the planks secured crudely in the dirt as stairs to Sara's shack.

Reaching the top, he carefully stepping up onto the metal deck of her shack; which creaked and wailed at his weight, making him painfully aware that he likely awoke the whole town.

Struggling to keep the balance of the objects on his shoulders, he reached up and managed to fumble through Sara's pocket for her house key without dropping her, their packs and guns, or tripping down the uneasy slope behind him, in the dark, with Dogmeat dancing around his feet impatiently.

And then with the key acquired, he managed to balance his gun on his knee while he unlocked and pushed open the door. Gritting his teeth in frustration, he grasped his weapon again and resisted the urge to kick Dogmeat as the animal rushed past Charon's legs, nearly knocking him off balance, and through the open door.

He'd better get a fucking bonus for this or something.

Or she better be grateful at least.

Stepping into the house, he found the lights to be on and was suddenly grateful for not having to stumble through a darkened house for the switch. The large heart-shaped mattress, adorned with a red blanket and placed in the middle of the living-room floor was the dog's target and Dogmeat wagging his tail cheerfully as he curled up on it.

Charon ignored the robot 'Mr. Gusty' butler that hovered down the stairs. The robot greeted him politely in an artificial British accent, but Charon didn't answer or even acknowledge the machine. Instead he kicked the door closed behind him and dropped his bags unceremoniously onto the mattress; making Dogmeat flinch away as the equipment clattered beside him. He looked up to Charon, seeming to glare at him before wearily rested his head back down.

Feeling his shoulder relax at the significant loss of weight, but still aching at the sudden change of pressure, Charon stepped pass Gusty and carefully up the stairs. His body begging for rest, he placed his hand on the cheep railing to steady his steps as he scaled the rickety stairs.

Reaching the top floor, he moved past the storage room and to Sara's bedroom; pushing open her partly closed door. It swung open easily and Charon stepped inside, walking to her bed and carefully adjusting her weight over his shoulder as he eased her off him.

She was limp in her unconsciousness and moved to his every tug and nudge as he rested her carefully down onto the bed. With her weight free from him, he stood up away from the bed, rising to his full height as the dull ache in his muscles relaxed - not painful, just uncomfortable.

His eyes stayed fixed on her, studying her form carefully for a moment. Indecision fighting in his mind. Heaving a sigh, he silently scolded himself of even thinking of it, but it didn't stop him from stepping close to her. Leaning down, he let his hand reach out and touch against her neck, feeling the pulse racing under her skin even as a moment's worry drove him to do so.

A slight twinge of relief flooded through his chest and he didn't even realize he was holding his breath.

She was drunk.

She passed out.

That's it. No big deal.

No need to worry.

He shook his head as he internally reminded himself of that fact.  _No need to worry._

Turning away, he moved down the stairs lazily, each of his steps sluggish and heavy as he traveled down the deteriorated staircase. Stepping into the living room, he collapsed down next to Dogmeat, careful to avoid the equipment and frankly not caring that he was lying next to a dog.

He was tired. And he had a sneaking suspicion that he would be checking on Sara every hour.

No rest for the wicked.

Charon heaved a deep sigh and his eyes drifted shut, letting rest slowly creep over him. If only for a moment.

* * *

**DISCLAIMER: Sara is Pup-The-Derp's (from dA) Fallout 3 OC and I own everything else, except the characters and story-lines found in the Fallout universe. And that 'book about butts' line is something I saw off tumblr, so I don't own that either.**

**A/N: Okay, ladies and gentlemen, what you have just experienced is often referred to as SHAMELESS, SHAMELESS FLUFF. With that said, I'm aware this isn't my greatest literary accomplishment, but I found it too funny and too cute to stress over making it poetic or anything like that.**

**All and all, this story was suddenly at 7,000 words and I hadn't even started editing or adding any real detail. So I cut it, because it was bloody massive.**

**So, this is the 'Quantum' portion, 'Physics' will come next chapter. Also, I'm fully aware that "I Want To Know What Love Is" by The Foreigners is not a 50s song, but seriously, what drunk person hasn't sung it? Shut up. There's aliens, I think I can stretch the canon just a bit.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This serves as a chapter 2/companion to the first Quantum and Physics chapter, but if you read the other Sara-Charon fic "Something There That Wasn't There Before," you'll find it's also a companion/extension to one of those scenes too. Just a fun fact. I don't know what I'm doing, it's just for giggles.

Charon was beginning to think Sara would need a complete change of blood to be human again.

Most of the day had passed, and after force feeding her that first bottle of water, he'd hardly hear a thing from her. The occasions he glanced in would find Sara just like he left her - laid out on her bed in either the deepest sleep or the lightest coma imaginable. He'd check her breathing, but it'd only been a day, so he wouldn't consider contacting the doctor yet.

Charon was in the kitchen when he heard the sound. It was a gentle disturbance; a light creek and shudder he identified as her bed shifting slightly on the weak flooring that constituted a ceiling above his head.

Oh. So she was alive.

He decided it was as good a time as ever to ensure she hadn't drowned in her own vomit, and ascended the stairs. When he made his way into her room, he found her tangled in a mess of blankets rather than her previous laid-to-rest position. At some point she'd managed to lift her head long enough to dislodge her pillow and press it firmly to her face.

To confirm the pillow wasn't the cause – or going to be the cause - of accidental suffocation, he began, "Are you alright?"

There was no response at first, but then she muttered something. A sound that resembled a weak groan followed. He drew nearer so he could hear, and she shifted the pillow away. Her eyes were squinted tightly, still bloodshot and ringed with dark circles. She might have been glaring at him, or the light, or perhaps it was at life in general.

"The light." She mumbled, "Kill it." As though it were an attacker his contract detailed to protect her from.

The room was submerged in a dull darkness; the lights were off, there was no window, and the only natural light that peeked in were the thin, wispy streams between the cracks in the wall and ceiling.

"I can't." He answered, "I'm afraid it's as dark a-"

The groan she let out in response was low and pained, and sounded as though it were more harmful to her than whatever inspired it. Her pillowed retook is place over her head and her hands grasped at the edges, pressing it down over her ears. A thickly muffled voice strained through, " _Fucking hell, Charon, not so damn loud_."

He frowned; his tone had been perfectly mellow, quiet to match the silence that filled the house.

He rolled his eyes and fetched a Med-X; not that she deserved it, but he wasn't cruel.

-0-0-

When he returned sometime later, he found she had abandoned her efforts to fortify against the world via pillows. She was sitting up, back pressed to the headboard and her pillow-shield of choice resting in her lap. The Mutfruit was gone from the bedside table; perhaps a full blood transfusion would be avoided yet.

Though her shoulders were slumped, her skin still a pallid shade, and she looked at the pillow like she could drift back into sleep at a moment; beginning to resemble more of a human and less than a ghoul, but the jury was still out. He supposed this had something to do with why Quantums were banned before the war.

Sara glanced at him as he entered, but didn't speak until he reached her bedside, "Thanks." Her tone was still low, but no flicker of discomfort crossed her face at the sound. "For taking care of me and everything." A smile tugged at her lips softly, "You're pretty good at it, actually."

"Picked up things here and there." He answered, noncommittal. She was the first contract he'd treated for a near-fatal hangover, but she wasn't the first he'd tended to in general in his long life.

"No, really; you could totally make it as a nurse if you ever get bored of this bodyguard thing." She looked up at him, and at this proximity he could see her eyes had cleared considerably; the Med-X was having its affect. "Wadsworth is pretty good, but you have better bedside manners. And your jokes are better." She smiled, glancing down at her hands. "But really. You didn't have to do this. You could have just let me suffer all morning."

"All day." He corrected, mostly as a fact.

"Really?" She gave him a look, and apparently his expression gave her the answer. "Well, see, there you go. It's super nice of you, and I appreciate it. I know tending to the ill really wasn't in your contract."

"Keeping you alive is." He answered simply.

The look that flitted across her face was fond for a moment, soft in the way she regarded him. Why she was looking at him like he'd said something sweet didn't make sense, because that wasn't his intention when he said it. The state she was in before the Med-X certainly qualified as something at least as worrying as a Molerat sprinting in her direction.

The affectionate look held for one moment, two, and he was beginning to feel there was something downstairs he could better occupy himself with. Before he could shift out of place, she switched gears. Maybe she felt out of place, or maybe she'd somehow read something in his neutrality, but she cleared her throat.

" _So_ ," The word placed a firm barrier between that moment and this, and her following comment only reinforced it, "I still have pants, so I guess you didn't you take advantage of me?" The look she gave him was an attempt at suggestive, though it was hard to maintain with dark rings under her eyes.

He had to make a conscious effort not to roll his eyes. "I'm afraid the temptation was removed after you vomited on your collection of pre-war casual wear."

She'd just bought a few new articles from Moira, and ended up leaving them on the coffee table when the inspiration for a scavenging trip hit her.

"I…" The humor fell from her eyes, and he saw something that could have been shame take its place. "I what?"

"I have to congratulate you on your aim, though." He continued, leaning his shoulder against the wall, "You almost got the dog."

Charon had just gotten her through the door when Dogmeat rushed up to meet them, making a small sound in way of greeting. In response to her favorite companion, Sara struggled in Charon's arms, kicking her feet from under the loop of his arm – which had been there to keep her from falling, and were about to fail. She insisted on being let down, and rather than getting one of her boots to his teeth – which he suspected would happen by accident if he didn't comply – he slide her off his shoulder. She made a grand sway that may have resembled a dance if said dancer were vertically challenged, but when he reached out to catch her, she regained her balance, waving him off. "I got this, man; chill out." She confirmed her statement by turning around stiffly, greeting Dogmeat, and empting her guts directly onto the coffee table.

If only she'd aimed a little to the left; that could have made the evening at least somewhat enjoyable.

Sara's features strained like they were attempting a smirk, but apparently the effort lost out against whatever lingering sickness remained; instead she made a regretful moan, burying her face in her pillow. She remained there a second before daring a glance, the pillow still pressed to her mouth as she asked. "So… what'd you do with them?"

"The clothes?"

She hummed an affirmation.

"They were not salvageable, I assure you. I asked the robot to burn them."

Which is coincidently what he would have done with Dogmeat if her aim had been better. The mutt would have deserved it after leaving what resembled a foot on his chest the week before.

Missed opportunities.

Sara scoffed, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes. "Dear mother of Dashworth; I'm never going to drink again. Really."

Sure. He'd give it a week; perhaps a few days if they encountered a particularly difficult firefight.

She stayed quiet for a long moment before dragging her palms down her face. The silence had lasted just long enough to transition into something else, and he could read what that something else was when she shifted her gaze to the corner of the room. She wouldn't quite meet his eyes, clearly making a decent effort at circumventing her trait of a perpetually open expression. The characteristic was helpful in a variety of ways, mainly when Charon couldn't find the justification or the interest to ask what she was thinking.

It didn't work even with her best of efforts. It translated with minimal effort; thinly decorated with uncertainty and a healthy dose of embarrassment -  _Did I say something stupid last night?_

Charon realized the appropriate response was sooth her discomfort, but he didn't see how he could manage it since the answer was  _yes_. The comments in question hadn't really bothered him, to be honest – he was mostly used to it by now. Though sometimes he wondered if she tried on purpose, there was little she could say to throw him.

Which made her sudden discomfort even more unusual; why would she be upset about saying something now? He couldn't guess what she'd be holding back. Though, then again, there were still a few things she did that had foggy translations, so perhaps it had something to do with that.

Charon let the silence carry on - something he was never adverse to. Clearly her discomfort only increased the longer her mental question hung. After a few moments he knew were harder for her than for him, she spoke. "I didn't say anything, like… inappropriate, did I?" She tried, struggle flitting across her expression. "As in… very inappropriate?"

Shoulder pressed to the wall where he leaned, Charon ran a brief catalogue of the night before, remembering a variety of things that could be considered such but not in her case. He landed on one in particular: He'd tried to cut her off, and her tactful and sophisticated response to his exhibiting some responsibility had been "get laid; you're too uptight."

He had dismissed it at the time. But then again… after having to physically carry her home – in the dark, with countless dangers and almost zero visibility – and having to clean up her biological assault on the coffee table, and spending an otherwise useful day feeding her water and checking her breathing… he supposed he'd earned himself the luxury of a little malice. "Are we referring to the sexual comment or something else?"

The look that flashed on her expression resembled actual horror.

The color of health that had come into her features receded back to pallid.

Really? That was a little much. It hadn't been that bad.

The reaction that followed was just as alarming. Her face began a slow decent that accelerated into an all-out crash into her pillow, and her arms assisted in pressing it in further. It followed with a muffled,  _"Oh. My. GOD."_

Charon's confusion was showing clearly on his face now, breaking from his neutrality as he watched from her bedside.

" _Oh my God."_  She groaned into the pillow, dulling the sound. Her voice became clearer as she pulled away, but her face was still hidden in the white fabric, pressed to her forehead like she would crawl inside it. "Fuck. Charon, I'm so sorry." Her hands clutched at the pillow, nails digging in as if it'd personally offended her. "I never meant to say anything; I never meant for it in the FIRST PLACE. It was one time, really, and I honestly blame the late night crispy squirrel bits. And really, the majority of it was about a pants festival - it was just one part, honest. I'm so sorry."

Not one ounce of that made any form of sense. At all.

Charon's perplexed expression stayed as he regarded her, not moving from his place against the wall. He tried to replay what she said in his mind, picking up words here and there and trying to match them together in different patterns to see if they would make sense then, but nothing coherent could be made of it.

His ruined brows only furrowed deeper, eyes squinting, "What?"

Sara's body was folded in half as she pinned her protective feather shield between her head and knees. "The pants festival - honestly, the whole thing was so weir-" Her words halted suddenly, and she straightened slightly, dragging the pillow down across her hair and to her mouth so she could peek over its edge.  _"What?"_

Charon ran through a series of explanations but he felt as though he were piecing together a rifle with only ten of the components. There were great gaps that couldn't be bridged simply because he didn't have missing pieces. The silence beat out between them, and he relented to giving up and asking for more components, "I haven't the faintest understanding of anything you just said."

Sara's eyes flicked across his face, searching, and he could see her trying to piece together a rifle of her own. "But you said 'sexual comment?'"

He was still too many components short. He relented to giving her the necessary parts first, in hopes she'd return the favor. "Last night you were upset that I attempted to stop you from drinking. You said I was too tense, and recommended I 'get laid.'"

Her expression was that of someone who had stepped on a trip line and froze in fear; knowing that if they lifted their foot, they'd release the line and receive a face-full of buckshot.

Then something clicked in her face, and she looked like she'd just lifted her foot.

"Oh."

Charon waited, expected her to continue, but she didn't. She didn't offer him a single word to ease his confusion. So instead he moved first, "What were you referring to?"

Apparently, rather than accepting death, she decided to make a run for it. "Nothing. I don't know." She said quickly, her voice seemed not quite her own. "I'm still drunk. I have a headache."

Charon squinted further. "What do you mean, a 'pants festival'?"

Her voice was still tight, coming quick. The edges of her mouth turned up into a smirk with effort, but it didn't reach her eyes. "I'm incoherent, Charon; it was a really stupid joke I heard one time and I thought I'd told it to you last night." She shook her head, "It was so awful I never wanted to inflict that kind of pain on others. I'm really sorry." She waved her hand at him, shifting in the bed until she was laid on her side, her back to him. "Just leave me here to die in my well-deserved hangover."

Silence hung in the air. Charon looked at her.

It was probably credit to her open expression - the lack of guard on her features - but while she could make a most convincing argument to any person she met, she was a miserable liar.

Charon had the option, standing there feeling far more confused than when he entered, to say something more. Instead, he shifted his weight from the wall and back to his feet. He shook his head, and walk from the room.

He knew, in the most aggravating way, that the unanswered question would pester him in the back of his mind - coming up at random times, demanding that he pay attention to it, think about it - for days. But he still left it be.

Charon descended the stairs. Maybe  _he_  needed a drink.


End file.
